Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1887-02-05

! costumes usually Relieved ny ooihC pii5h
color, setting off to advantage their Ions
braids of raven hair, flashing eyes anc
pearly teeth. They chatted and laughed
freely with the white women who grouped
together, or walked arm in arm about the
green. The uniforms of the soldiers added
to the effect of the scene, but the men were
apparently under restraint, taking the role
of quiet observers and good feeders on the
hospitable fare which was bountifully dis
pensed.
On a rough wooden seat. in the shadow
| of the Council House, was seated group
to which many eyes were attracted. They
seemed to belong neither TO the whites moi
to their red friends Their attitude was re-
served, though self-possessed. The central
figure was a woman of middle age, hand
somely robed in black, her presence was large
and majestic: her dark rich complexion and
superb poise would have suited an Indian
| queen. The girl at her side was also in
black, but it was Enthusiastically mourning
| She wore neither bonnet nor head-dress,
but the braid of soft, tinted brown hair
that was wound around her head had
Grape veil fastened with jet pins,
and swept down behind and halt
| hiding her slender figure. A cross and
rosary at her belt completed a costume
that much resembled that of Sister OF
Charity. Her face was young and fair and
very sweet its expression sad and preoc-
cupied, except when whisper from her
companion reused her to some show of in
terest. Three gayly-dressed little boys
| fitted about them, vivacious with quick
movements, and shrill chatter mostly in
French) among themselves, and the mother
and sister-for so they called the two
women, who were careful that they should
IL 81 H..
| strange assembly.
Many kindly and sympathetic looks were
cast toward the girl by the young people,
but the valley folk were good Presbyterians,
actually and by long descent of belief; and
the Papist rosary and cross raised between
them barrier world wide. Yet that night
when they slumbered and in uneasy
dreams saw distorted faces and figures. in
| strange combinations of the exciting events
| of the day, that face rose fair and calm as
a star, and before it the evil visions fed
1t was at the first snowfall of. the past
winter that Raoul Desmonde, scout and
hunter, had been borne wounded and dy-
ing from an encounter with bear, into
the Castle of the Onaudagas. The friend
of OnGayuka, 10 effort was spared to re
store him. But his hours were numbered,
and swift runner was sent to bring his
| family from a town twenty miles distant,
! and so quickly was the mission accom-
| plished that the bewildered and awe
stricken group stood at his bedside in time
to receive his last farewell. Raoul Des-
mande, q wild scion of a good family in
the city of Montreal, met by accident a
ir-haired English school girl. twas the
old story. She left all to follow
him. Desmande was kind to his
young wife, but they were poor,
and she sank under her burdens, and died
when her little girl was year old. Raoul
placed his little daughter in charge of the
good Sisters of the convent, and wandered
away into the wilderness. Its wild life was
| the element in which his storm-tossed soul
found peace. After hunting, scouting and
Indian fighting, with adventures enough
to fill volume, he was taken, ill and help
less, to the cabin of an old comrade, whose
daughter nursed him. When he recovered,
he had nothing but himself to give in re-
turn for her devotion. She was beautiful,
fiery and spirited, but crafty and undisci-
pinned. She was better manager than the
first wife, and they lived in much comfort
ut Detroit, with plenty of French neigh
bors, and the usual society of a garrison
town.
Finally Desmonde was possessed with a
great longing for the sight of his daughter
He had a right to her. He lroutd have
her. The poor child had kept her little
lamp always burning, fed by constant let
tiers, full OF affection, that she wrote weekly
TO father and little brothers. She thought
she could be useful-the good Sisters had
trained her so well. Madame Desmonde
thought so, too, though she had much
rather she did not come. The good Sisters
wept over her, for they remembered her
mother. And SO, fortified by the instruc-
tons and prayers of those noble women,
Amber Desmonde went out into the world.
Her father welcomed her joyously. She
was teacher and playfellow in one to her
little brothers; and the dark, handsome
stepdame found her cares SO lightened by
Amber's ready help, and her natural jeal-
ousy quoted by her meek submission,
that life flowed smoothly with this family
up to the time of the breaking out of the
war Then Desmonde's well-known address
and abilities marked him as fit agent for
the Government at time when much tact
was required in the management of Indian
affairs. Madame had declined to be left at
home, foreseeing, perhaps, long absence.
So the family Travelled eastward, usually
stopping at some town, while the father
pursued his negotiations, returning to
them occasionally.
His dealings with the IroQuois soon
brought him to Ondayuka, the good chief
who had taught him woodcraft when he
first fled from his griefs into the forests, and
since the day that terminated his life, his
family had been the honored guests of the
Onondagas. This easy life and the defer
ence shown her by the simple people of
the hills suited well the widow Des-
monde She had no wish to return to her
old home where she could not live without
care and toll. But the daughter grieved
for her father and longed for the home
where they had been 60 happy together.
Her sadness and continued want of interest
| in her surroundings irritated the compla-
cent stepmother and she grew sharp and
harsh toward the girl. She knew well that
Amber had a reason-but OF which she
never spoke-for urging their return, and
fate had placed in her INSCRIPTIONS hands
| the means of breaking this invisible chain
that drew her daughter so very strongly to-
wards the way which madame was deter
mined she would not go.
! While the merriment and good fellow
ship were at their hight the venerable
1 Ondayuka, with a few of his chiefs and
some of the foremost of his white visitors,
| made tour of the green. He had words
/ of kindly recognition tor all. Accompany
| ing him was his nephew and heir to the
| Chieftancy; Captain Frost. a fine looking,
middle-aged man; then another nephew
! the beloved, yet apostate pupil of Eleazar
/ Williams, the lost Bourbon of history
! the willy. eloquent and gifted lie Fort, then
a slender and handsome youth.
| There was another, in the prime of early
manhood, who seemed to the spectators the
/ idea of an Apollo in bronze. He was a
| Seneca, who had come with Ondayuka, and
| desired admission to the tribe His reputa-
| ton as brave and athlete had preceded
him. 1t was said that he had not received
the prominence which he sought in the
coming campaign, and had retired dis
gusted from the service of bis own people.
| Such changes have been common among
the tribes from time immemorial Tall
and graceful dressed in the finest of Indian
costumes, he moved easily amidst the
assembly unembarrassed and keenly OBJ.
servant. There was another reason given
by the Indian gossips for his appearance
among the Onondagas. There was lovely
girl of the family of Ondayuka who had
visited the Senecas, and the report went
that the brave and the maiden were
| strongly and mutually attracted.
In his progress 0ndayuka paused before
the group who were seated near the Coun-
Gil House. He greeted them with special
| kindness, and presented his companions to
the widow and daughter of his old friend
The widow sustained her share of the con-
versation with courteous ease and much
| fluency of expression, but the young lady